


my heart (reads) for you

by intergaylactic



Series: elaborate coffeeshop au extravaganza [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Everyone Loves Mike Hanlon, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mike Hanlon Deserves Nice Things, Slow Burn, Youtube AU, and this is just Loving Mike Hanlon the fic, anyway i love my kids and want them to be happy, but that's life and i will regret nothing i'm sure lmao, but they're all interconnected lowkey, i am mike hanlon in this fic: about to go in way over my head, mike hanlon is my boy, so here's that, so i have no self control and also no common sense, so you can if u want, you don't have to read the other works in the series to get this one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:08:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21741976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intergaylactic/pseuds/intergaylactic
Summary: "Not sure why I was asked to do this, given my decided lack of rambunctious kids to feed every Tuesday night after soccer practice or PTA meetings to bring genuinely impressive snacks to, but here we are, and here I am, and here is how to make family-style fish tacos.”stan uris is famous on the internet for his deadpan humour and his love of birds, as well as his pecan pie recipe, which is mythic among test kitchen employees. stan also harbours a continent-sized crush on one of his best friends and test kitchen coworkers.mike hanlon began his culinary journey at a local arby's at the age of sixteen, and is now making his famous brownie recipe for all the world to see. he is charming, friendly, and falls in love more easily than eddie bangs his head on pantry shelves.bill denbrough is an aspiring writer working part-time at Fran's coffeeshop to make ends meet while he works on his novels and runs a successful booktube channel called bookswithbigbill. two regulars have stumbled into his life now, and he doesn't want one of them (or his baked goods) to ever leave.it's too bad he's locked in a blood feud with the other.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough & Ben Hanscom, Bill Denbrough & Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough & Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak & Stanley Uris, Mike Hanlon & Eddie Kaspbrak
Series: elaborate coffeeshop au extravaganza [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567087
Comments: 42
Kudos: 76





	1. i didn't mean to / get your drink wrong / please don't murder me

“Hey, Stan, have you seen the peppercorns?!” 

Stan’s heart should not flutter when asked for peppercorn coordinates. He shouldn’t get butterflies just because he didn’t see Mike come back from his lunch break, and so doesn’t have his composure ready. His Neutrally Talking To Mike, My Coworker voice isn’t directly on hand, and his brain is already primed to set off a firework or two when Mike speaks to him, so Stan shouldn’t really be panicking for the split second that he has to rethink Mike’s question three times to understand it, but he does anyway. 

“Stan?”

“They should - they should be above the dried florals,” Stan says, hoping Mike didn’t catch his slight stumble. Mike would never say anything if he had, would never press for details or crowd him or pester him if he had; that’s half the reason Stan likes Mike so much. But still, the idea of Mike noticing his stumble, even silently, is enough to make Stan panic for another nanoseconds. He has gotten good at compacting his anxiety like that: crushing it down into miniscule bites, tight moments of fright that leave him with more time to breathe normally and await the next panic. 

“Thanks, man,” Mike says, coming out of the test kitchen pantry with the aforementioned peppercorns. He’s making crispy sheet pan meatballs with salsa verde. Stan knows this because he almost always knows what Mike is cooking in the test kitchen; Mike likes to let him know in the morning, as the two of them are unpacking themselves at their desks, readying for the day of work ahead. He’ll glance up and look at Stan and smile - the exact Mike-smile that leaves distinct little crinkles around his eyes - and go “I think today’s the day for -”, and Stan will look right back and smile his own small smile, shrivelled and odd in comparison, and go “Sounds good.” 

Stan shouldn’t get so excited for that moment every morning, but he does anyway. He does a lot of things anyway. 

“I’m going down to Fran’s, did you want anything?” Eddie asks, and Stan jumps, just slightly. 

But Eddie Kaspbrak is not like Mike, and would  _ absolutely  _ say something about Stan’s weirdness. 

“Jesus, you okay?” Eddie squints at him for a moment, and a slow, canary-eating smile unfurls across his face. Stan hates that smile more than his own. “You think I was somebody else?” 

“No,” Stan says curtly. “You’re not nearly tall enough to be mistaken for anyone else,  _ Eds _ .” 

Eddie’s face falls flat, and he levels Stan with a glare. “I don’t know why I offered to buy you coffee.” 

“Because I go on twitter to solve your problems - and I’ll take a medium dark roast, black, thank you.” 

They stare at each other for a long moment, two glares locked in silent combat, before Eddie breaks and rolls his eyes. “Fine. I’ll get your stupid coffee.” 

“Actually,” Brad, the director of the majority of test kitchen series, cuts in, “I need to steal Eddie for a meeting about the next episode of Gourmet Makes, so  _ you  _ might have to get everyone’s stupid coffee today, Uris.” 

Stan looks up at Brad with raised eyebrows. “Is that so?” 

“Yep!” Brad grins. “I’ll take a small medium roast, two creams, please and thanks.” 

Slowly, Stan pulls out his phone and opens his notes app, letting out a deep, long-suffering sigh. Eddie gives him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, though the gesture is undercut by the wicked glint in his eye. 

“It’s like Patty’s told you, Stan, you just have to take a deep breath and be nice sometimes.” 

Stan glowers at Eddie before turning his eyes back on Brad. “I am perfectly fucking nice.” 

* * *

**Stan Makes Family-Style Fish Tacos**

[Stan Uris stands behind a long, polished countertop, immaculate in his black apron, not one honey-blonde curl out of place. He gives the camera a small, determined nod.]

“Welcome back to the BA test kitchen, where I’ll be making family-style fish tacos. Not sure why  _ I  _ was asked to do this, given my decided lack of rambunctious kids to feed every Tuesday night after soccer practice or PTA meetings to bring genuinely impressive snacks to, but here we are, and here I am, and here is how to make family-style fish tacos.” 

[Cut to Stan chopping cilantro. Eddie peeks at the counter as he walks past and grimaces.]

“Ugh, god, I f***ing hate cilantro, f***ing soap leaves.” 

[Stan responds without looking up from his cilantro.]

“Sorry Eddie, those of us with taste can’t relate.” 

* * *

  
  


Bill has been working at Fran’s for nearly a week and a half. His training shifts went without incident, even if he had to write codes for the different drinks on his forearm in sharpie to remember them (macchiato = espresso + milk foam, cappuccino = espresso + steamed milk + milk foam, flat white = espresso + steamed milk). He takes orders with a smile, writes legibly on the cups, and nearly did a decent latte heart the other day. Bill is coming along as a 7.5/10 barista, which Ben agrees with. 

All of this burgeoning success is why Bill’s third customer of his shift is such a terrible surprise. 

It’s around one thirty, and between rush hours; the coffeeshop is relatively quiet. Generally speaking, the only customers who drop in around this time, according to Ben, are regulars, particularly those from the neighbouring office buildings. Teen Vogue, GQ, Bon Appetit, Elle - there’s a whole host of trendy magazines that have their headquarters based several hundred feet above Bill’s work. 

Bill is leaning against the counter, which his manager, Ellen, doesn’t seem to mind; she isn’t too much of a stickler for keeping up a “perfect employee image”, and doesn’t scold any of the baristas when they slouch or forget to smile or spell a name wrong. Ellen is cool, and Bill is relieved to have landed someone like her after his last retail manager. 

The bell above the door dings, and Bill looks up to see a tall, curly-haired man striding purposefully over to the counter. He’s dressed in a button-down and slacks, clearly very professional, though the shirt is made of a light, slightly glossy material, which Bill assumes must be fashionable Upstairs. 

They lock eyes, and Bill chokes in his throat a bit. He’s so drawn in by the man’s sharp, hazel eyes, that he almost misses it when he starts to speak. “Hello.”

“Hey,” Bill recovers quickly, smiling. “What can I get for you?” 

The man, reading off of his phone screen, lists five coffees. Bill rings them all through, and shoots the man another (charming) smile. “And what name can I put these under?” 

The man glances around at the quiet shop, and the lack of other ordering customers, and raises an eyebrow at Bill. “Must you?” 

Bill’s smile tightens for a second, before he remembers that he is at work and that this is a customer who has access to yelp. So he tries to brighten his grin and nods. “Just in case anyone comes in - don’t want anyone stealing your coffee.” 

The man’s lips purse, as though he’s thinking it over, before he says, “Stan.” 

Bill scrawls the name across each cup, and sets them up to be filled. “Alrighty, that’ll be just a moment.” 

Stan just nods once, and looks back at his phone. Bill turns to the espresso machine, getting started on the cappuccino, and then pouring the two plain medium roasts. He adds cream to both, stirs them and snaps on their lids, and finishes up the other three drinks. He looks up at Stan as he slides the tray and fifth cup across the counter and says, “Stan?” with a joking smile. 

Stan glances up, and notices the drinks. When he puts his phone away and picks them up, he barely looks at Bill. Maybe he’s having a shitty day. Maybe he’s tired. Maybe he’s buying coffee for someone even ruder than him. Bill is trying to rationalize his behaviour when Stan freezes at the door, and snaps his head back to stare at him. Bill freezes, too, and stares back. Finding his voice - god, those fucking  _ eyes  _ \- he asks, “Everything all good?” 

Stan seems to deliberate for a moment before biting out, “I didn’t order this.” 

“Hmm?” Bill frowns. “Which one?” 

“The medium roast with cream,” Stan says, voice flat as she walks back to the counter and sets his cup down in front of Bill, like he’s presenting a dead mouse he found in the bathroom and not an incorrect coffee order. “I ordered a dark roast, black.” 

“Oh, shit man, I’m so sorry - I’m kinda new,” Bill apologizes, taking the coffee back and pulling out a new cup. “Medium dark roast, black, coming right up!” 

Bill does feel some remorse as he makes Stan’s actual coffee; he did make it wrong, after all. Stan is reacting to an actual mistake Bill made, and he hasn’t raised his voice, which is what Bill had been afraid of when he turned around. He’s waiting by the counter in stoic silence, though the pinch between his brows is bothering Bill. 

Bill whirls around and holds out Stan’s new coffee, smiling abashedly at him. “Sorry about that - did you want a muffin or something, on the house?” It sounds diplomatic enough to him. 

But Stan shakes his head, accepting the coffee and taking a long sip. “No.” Then he stalks right out of Fran’s, the ceiling lights playing patterns on the back of his glossy shirt, the glare of his hazel eyes imprinted onto Bill’s brain. 

Bill stands there for a solid minute, before a girl who had been studying in the corner approaches him to order a refill. He goes on autopilot, fixing her a cappuccino, as he frets over the mysterious asshole called Stan. Bill just hopes he isn’t a regular. 

* * *

  
  


**@billdenbro:** customer service: i didn’t mean to / get your drink wrong i promise / please don’t murder me - a haiku by bill denbrough 

**@teanthings reply to @billdenbro:** ugh what a vibe

**@thebookoutlet reply to @billdenbro:** dude we are so sorry, please don’t die

**@benhan reply to @billdenbro:** oh mood, but god don’t let it be a regular 

**@billdenbro reply to @benhan:** idk and i’m scared to find out 

  
  
  
  



	2. sometimes people are just lactose intolerant, linda

Mike has agreed to get Stan and Eddie’s coffees this morning. Definitely out of the goodness of his heart, and not because he wants to see the new barista at Fran’s again. That would be ridiculous. 

Walking up to the counter and thanking his lucky stars that he’s working a shift right now, Mike flashes a bright smile. “Three medium cappuccinos, please. Almond milk in one of them.” 

Bill smiles back at him, and types in his order. “No problem. Also good morning.” 

Mike had decided the moment he first laid eyes on Bill that he didn’t mind Josh, the previous barista, one bit. (He would miss Liza, but he would never tell Ben that.) Bill’s blue eyes sparkle and he dots the ‘i’ in Mike’s name adorably; Mike isn’t sure how you dot an ‘i’ adorably, but somehow Bill manages to. He smiles and shines in the morning sunlight filtering through the coffeeshop windows, and takes a bit of Mike’s breath away every time he sees him. 

So, maybe he did volunteer to see Bill. Just partly. 

“Oh, good morning!” Mike says, rolling his eyes at himself. “Sorry, it’s deadline day. Everyone’s a bit stressed.” 

“For the magazine?” Bill asks this as he’s whipping up the cappuccinos, attention divided evenly between the drinks and Mike. “You guys have a deadline for the online articles?” 

“No, the print issue,” Mike explains. “Today’s the day to submit the recipes and articles you want printed, and the writers that get selected are emailed by this weekend.” If he sounds a little wistful, he has good reason: he’s finalizing his article on reworking fast food to at-home, healthier comfort food, to be submitted by five pm this evening. 

“Oh, nice. You sending anything in?” Bill slides the first two drinks across the counter, and Mike sticks them in a tray. 

“Yeah,” Mike says, shrugging. “Just a small article, nothing big.”

“I’m sure it’s fantastic,” Bill assures him, smiling softly over the espresso machine. Mike feels his heart flutter, and smiles back. He accepts the third and final coffee, and slips it into the tray. 

“Well, good luck with the article,” Bill says. 

Mike nods his thanks, and gives Bill a little wave as he heads back out of Fran’s. “I’ll let you know if it makes it,” he calls, and Bill shoots him a thumbs up as he steps back outside. The June sunlight is radiant in the sky as Mike walks back to the office building, buoyant and brimming with hope. He can write this article. Bill wants to read it. 

* * *

  
  


[A photo of a cream-coloured coffee cup, the word ‘Fran’s’ emblazoned on the side in cherry red. It’s held in a large, brown hand, in front of an enormous window with a view of downtown New York.] 

21,344 likes

**justmikeplease** Fran’s rescuing me again on deadline day

**eddiekaspbrak** oh my god good luck with your submission, you’re gonna crush it

**justmikeplease** you’re sitting right next to me

**eddiekaspbrak** yeah but now you get double support

**batestkitsch** y’all are so cute w your regular coffee place and your friendship 

* * *

  
  


Stan accepts his cappuccino from Mike, and gives it a suspicious sniff. “Almond milk?”

“That’s what I ordered,” Mike says with a shrug, taking a long sip of his own coffee, and handing Eddie his. 

“Sometimes life doesn’t give you what you ask it for,” Stan mutters, taking a tentative sip of his drink. Almond milk. Barista Bill would live to see another day. 

“Is that the mood of the day?” Eddie asks, watching Stan from his desk, face scrunched up in bewilderment. 

“Yeah, is everything okay? Your submission going alright?” Mike is looking at Stan with significantly more concern than Eddie, and Stan feels a slight pang of guilt. He never likes making Mike worry about him, or about anything. Mike should get to be happy all the time, regardless of Stan’s ensuing personal drama. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine, just a bit stressed,” Stan says, waving off their concerned gazes. “You guys doing okay? Eddie, are you okay with your meeting tomorrow?” 

Eddie’s eyes narrow into a glare, and Stan is satisfied with Mike’s attention redirected to him. He can handle a shitty new barista without any of his friends becoming too involved in the situation. All he has to do is get ‘Bill’ to make him the correct cup of coffee. That’s all. 

He turns back to his article, which he’s about 78% finished with. It’s coming along nicely, and he takes a long sip of his coffee; it’s absolutely, perfectly fine. Stan is just going to have to survive a new Fran’s shake-up with the same resolution that he had last night when writing up this article. 

* * *

  
  


**TeaBR Tag (+ a brief Q &A) **

[Bill Denbrough sits on his bed, fairy lights strung up around his headboard. He’s clad in an oversized University of Maine t shirt, and is holding a mug of tea that says ‘Mike Pence’s Tears.’ He grins at the camera, boyish as ever with his mussed auburn hair and bright blue eyes.] 

“What’s up everybody? It’s Bill, and I’m back with a Q&A video, as well as the TeaBR Book Tag - I’ve got the questions right here on my phone, and also a steaming vat of  _ tea _ .” 

[Bill holds up the mug, careful not to drop any tea. There’s a glint in his eye that says he knows which mug he grabbed, and that it’ll definitely be part of the video.] 

“It’s lady grey with lemon, by the way. So, I’m gonna be altern- nating - ugh, sorry -  _ alternating _ between questions from the tag and questions from you guys. Here we go! Question One: what happened with that customer you wrote a haiku about, we want the tea?”

[Bill laughs, and takes a long sip of his tea. He smacks his lips obnoxiously, and then laughs again, this time at something off-camera. Cut to a new shot of Bill sitting on his bed, turning an amused look onto the camera.]

“Ben thinks I shouldn’t gossip about customers so much, but come on! Okay, all I’ll say, is he was kind of an asshole, but I made his drink wrong, so it’s at least fifty percent on me, okay? Okay. That’s it. Oh, but!” 

[Bill exclaims this, and nearly (literally) spills the tea. He catches the mug just in time, and licks the escaped drops off of the side of his hand with a wink to, presumably, Ben.]

“Another guy came in recently, who I think works with the rude guy, and he’s super super nice, so it all evens out. He’s really . . . yeah.” 

[Bill trails off, and smiles, though it looks to be to himself.] 

“He’s somethin’.” 

* * *

  
  


Bill hasn’t seen Stan the Asshole in five days, which has been a blessing. He’s worked the late evening shifts for four of those days, and had one off entirely, so that might have helped matters, but nonetheless he has been temporarily freed from Stan’s presence. 

That is, until this morning. 

Stan walks in with purpose, which seems to be how he always moves. (If Bill wasn’t so worried about getting chewed out by him, he might say it’s kind of sexy. But he is, so he doesn’t.) He gets in line, and Bill can see him tapping around on his phone as he waits. 

When Stan gets to the counter, he looks up at Bill and frowns. This is not a great sign, in Bill’s humble opinion. 

“Can I have a medium dark roast, black?” Stan asks this with such intent that Bill knows it’s intentionally his previous order. He knows this because he remembers the order he fucked up, because it’s been tugging at the back of his brain for five days. 

So he just gives Stan a knowing half-smile and goes, “I don’t know, can you?”

This is apparently not the right thing to say at all, because Stan levels Bill with a terrifying glare. “Only if you’re willing to make it. That’s generally how this works, in my experience.” 

Bill plasters a bright smile onto his face, even though he knows it looks fake, and rings the order through. Then he plucks up a cup and says, still smiling, “And the name?” 

Stan must practice the single eyebrow raise in his bathroom mirror, because he does it perfectly. His lips are pursed, and Bill is reminded of their first meeting earlier that week. Maybe Stan the Asshole will never regain his status as simply ‘Stan’. “You know my name.” 

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Bill says, uncapping his sharpie and scribbling on the cup. “Your order will be ready in just a minute.” 

“Amazing,” Stan says flatly, and moves to the side to wait for his drink. At least he seems to have enough manners to accomplish that much, Bill concedes. Doesn’t make him less of a prat. 

When Bill hands Stan his drink and says “Have a nice day”, he doesn’t wait for Stan to reply; he just moves right onto the next customer, entirely ignoring Stan still standing by the counter. He sees him turn on his heel and stride out the door, and is grateful that Stan didn’t check his cup before he left. With any luck, he won’t come back, either. 

“And what can I get you this morning?” 

* * *

  
  


**@thestanuris:** Sometimes people are just lactose intolerant, Linda. They don’t want any goddamn cream. 

**@bonappletea reply to @thestanuris:** dude this struggle is so Real, like sometimes ppl don’t mean to, but if i ask for almond milk it’s so i don’t die later 

**@urisbrownies reply to @thestanuris:** omg did someone try to poison you??? 

**@carlacannes reply to @thestanuris:** honey, i will personally scold whoever has done this 

**@eddiek reply to @thestanuris:** melodramatic b**ch 

**@thestanuris reply to @eddiek:** You don’t have to censor yourself here, you’re not at work. 

**@eddiek reply to @thestanuris:** but i’m sitting next to angela’s office, it’s instinct 

* * *

  
  


Mike is unsure what exactly is wrong with Stan, but something is definitely bothering him. He’s stalked to and from the pantry five times, just because he keeps forgetting spices he needs, and he’s pacing more than usual as he stirs the batter in a bowl wedged in the crook of his arm. 

Mike, by all accounts, probably shouldn’t notice these things. Sure, there are obvious warning signs that any attentive friend would notice: Eddie rambling when he’s anxious, or Stan’s sudden clumsiness when he’s overstressed. But there are small things about Stan that Mike notices anyway, minute details that he has collected over the years. It’s like he has a mental scrapbook of Stan Uris. And maybe, under other circumstances, Mike would be okay admitting that he notices these things. He would be able to laugh it off, and not worry about Stan picking up on it. 

But under these circumstances, Mike’s noticing is directly related to his ridiculous, heart-thumping crush on Stan; hence why Mike doesn’t want Stan to notice his noticing.

Stan is Mike’s best friend. Eddie is a close second, and Mike loves him dearly, he really does, but Mike and Stan click in a deeper way than Mike does with Eddie. Mike and Stan balance each other: Mike is practically fearless, Stan is hesitant but willing to be brave with Mike. Stan is brilliantly organized and knows everything about anything, and Mike knows when to start acting (or cooking) just from the heart. They move almost instinctively around each other, always able to know the other’s movements, and maybe that just comes with the territory of working in a kitchen together for five years, but Mike doesn’t think so. 

He would’ve acted on these feelings when he first met Stan, way back in their first few months at the test kitchen. Stan had made everyone pecan pie, and Mike had made brownies, and Mike still remembers how much he laughed when Stan tried and failed to recreate his brownies. 

“You just gotta feel how much of that you’re putting in,” Mike had said, as Stan measured out white and brown sugar. 

Stan had scowled, and not looked up at Mike while he mixed. “Baking is a science, Michael.” 

“Not always,  _ Stanley _ .” 

But Stan had been with Patty then - a beautiful, brilliant NYU student, getting her master’s in bioengineering. Stan and Patty had split amicably after a year - no one had ever heard the story behind the break-up, but no one had ever dared to bother Stan with the question - but Mike still hesitated. As much as bisexuals existed, Mike was almost certain Stan was straight. And so he hesitated, and hesitated some more, and eventually it had been four years and far too late for Mike to ask if Stan liked guys. 

Now, he sits at his desk in the test kitchen, watching Stan pace with his bowl of batter, and wonders when will be the right time to ask him what’s wrong. 

The answer to this question comes five minutes later, in the form of Stan tripping over absolutely nothing and dropping his entire bowl of batter onto the floor. 

Mike leaps to his feet to help, grabbing a towel as he hurries over to Stan, who is scrambling to his feet, glaring down at the upside-down bowl and discarded whisk. Mike kneels down to right the bowl, and starts trying to wipe up the batter. “You okay?” 

Stan and Mike look up at each other, and Mike should be used to how pretty Stan’s eyes are, but somehow never is. Stan is still glaring, but his expression softens to non-threatening frustration when he looks at Mike. 

“I’m fine. I just - today has not been going well.” 

“No?” Mike plops the filthy towel into the nearest sink, though there’s still batter smeared across the floor. “I think we’ll need the mop. What’s wrong?” 

Stan’s gaze goes a little distant, and Mike watches him vanish from the moment for just a moment. He’s always done this so well: Stan can teleport elsewhere and then right back into the current moment in seconds, his mind moving a mile a minute as he disappears into his own world for a moment. 

He returns, and his frown deepens into a scowl. “Started the day with a shitty coffee.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> plot twist!!: bill is a witch who cursed stan and made him drop his batter using a magic curse lmao 
> 
> also aaaahhhh i'm glad people are having fun with this fic <3 <3 i have so many ideas for it, and i hope y'all like a slow burn <3 <3
> 
> hmu on tumblr @ thatsjustfangtastic if you wanna chat/yell about these nerds lmao


	3. mike makes brownies (and baffles bill)

“I’ll take one iced mocha, and a Chaucer quote, please.” 

Bill looks up at Bev with a flat stare, entirely unimpressed. “I don’t know Chaucer off the top of my head.” 

“I just thought you were the fancy writer -”

“Is that what you think english majors do? Memorize Chaucer?”

“See, I never said english major,” Bev counters, pointing an accusing finger at Bill. “So that might be coming from a place of insecurity on your part.” 

“Shut up,” Bill says, though he’s smiling too much for there to be much bite to it. He rings Bev through, and starts fixing her drink, all while she gripes about the July issue of the web magazine. 

“It’s so new, so they’re lowkey looking for any reason to cut it if it doesn’t go over astronomically well,” she explains, accepting her coffee and taking a quick sip. “And my editor is breathing down the back of my neck over the feature for Eddie ever since the twitter bullshit went down. So now I’m just desperately trying to survive the month.” 

Bill gives her a sympathetic grimace. “That sounds fucking awful.”

“It is,” Bev agrees, and nods over to her usual spot in the corner, taking another drink of her coffee; she seemed a little desperate to consume it as soon as possible. “I’m gonna go get started on the final outlines, cool?” 

“Definitely cool,” Bill nods, giving her a thumbs up. “Go crush it.” 

“You’re still such a dork,” Bev says with a snort, as she ruffles his hair before making her way over to her table. Bill flushes and reaches up to comb his hair back down with his fingers. Damn it, Bev, he has a reputation of coolness to uphold. 

This reputation becomes significantly more important to him when Mike from BA walks through the door of Fran’s. 

He’s gorgeous, his soft brown skin glowing against the peach button down t shirt he’s wearing. It’s showing off his arms, and Bill is one hundred percent aware of this as Mike makes his way up to the counter. He flashes Bill a bright smile, and Bill has to clear his throat and recover his focus to say, “Morning.” 

“Morning,” Mike says. “I’ll just grab three medium dark roasts, two with cream, one with almond milk.” 

“No problem,” Bill says with a smile, whipping out three medium cups and scrawling Mike’s name on each. “Just tap whenever you’re ready.” 

“Sure,” Mike says, paying as Bill moves to pour his coffees. “So, I got an email from our print issue editor.” 

“Oh my god,” Bill says, looking up at Mike with a grin. He can’t help it; the excitement in Mike’s voice is so contagious that his smile rises to his face, unbidden. “Did you get in?” 

“I made the cut!” Mike confirms. 

“In that case,” Bill says, reaching into the pastry display case with a grand flourish, “This guy is on the house.” He plucks out a chocolate chip muffin - fresh from the oven this morning - and presents it to Mike in a small paper bag. 

“Oh, I can’t, don’t worry about it -” Mike begins, holding up his hands. But Bill pressed forward, placing the muffin next to the two coffees he’s slid across the counter to Mike. 

“It’s a gift of congratulations for a highly valued customer,” Bill says with a wink. He isn’t sure where the wink comes from, but he decides his best course of action is just to run with it. 

“Okay, okay,” Mike says, giving him a grateful smile and tucking the muffin in the fourth, empty slot of his coffee tray. Bill hands Mike the final, almond milk coffee, and Mike’s hand is as warm as Bill thought it would be when it brushes against his own. 

“I’ll see you around,” Mike says with a nod, and heads back out; he glances over his shoulder before slipping out the door, and Bill hopes he catches the small wave he tosses him. 

He sighs, small and happy to himself, and glances over at Bev, who is sitting at her table watching him with raised eyebrows and a devious grin. Bill doesn’t like that expression one fucking bit. 

“What?” He asks. 

Bev shrugs, still looking like a canary who has all the cream in the world before her. “Oh, nothing. You’re friendly with Mike, I see.” 

“I am - wait, how do you know Mike?” 

“I know  _ everything _ ,” Bev says, wiggling her fingers. 

Bill just rolls his eyes, and silently hopes that isn’t true - though from the look in her eye, it very well might be. 

* * *

  
  
  


**A Court of Mist and Fury Review (spoiler: bleh)**

[Bill Denbrough is standing in the middle of his kitchen, holding a glass of wine, mid-review. He swirls it dramatically, and takes a long sip.]

“This is fanta and smirnoff ice.” 

[Cut to Bill, still pacing around his kitchen with his cursed drink. He looks up at the camera and grins.]

“Okay, so the only thing I can say that’s truly, genuinely,  _ really  _ positive is probably that, like, Tarquin can kind of get it, you know? Like, tall, beautiful guys who are also super kind and sweet . . . I think I have a type. Do I have a type, Ben?”

[Ben Hanscom wanders into the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water. He doesn’t look at the camera when he responds.]

“Yes.” 

* * *

  
  


Mike, having delivered Eddie and Stan’s coffees, has moved into the testing phase of his altered tahini sauce. He’s pulling ingredients off shelves in the pantry when he hears Stan just outside splutter and say “Oh, really?” 

“Everything okay?” Mike asks, sticking his head out of the pantry door.

Stan flinches, and shrugs at him, eyes slightly averted. He holds up his coffee cup, and frowns. “I don’t know - someone left you a note.” 

Mike, confused, places his ingredients on the nearest counter before taking Stan’s coffee. Sure enough, on black sharpie are the words “a surprise for you under here :)” with an arrow pointing to the sleeve. He looks back up at Stan, who’s still frowning. “Sorry about that, they must’ve gotten the cups mixed up.” 

“Yeah,” Stan says; he sounds a bit distant, and Mike feels his chest tighten. “It’s cool.”

“I can just take the sleeve and -” Mike starts, but Stan waves him off.

“No, don’t worry, I’m good. You like almond milk anyway, right?” He doesn’t wait for an answer from Mike; he just moves back to his computer, and starts typing away at an email. 

Mike, hesitant, peels the sleeve off of the cup, and reads the inside: “@billdenbro - i’ll follow you back, i promise” 

He feels himself blush, which is such a strange contrast to the unsteady feeling brewing in his stomach from seeing Stan so quietly upset, that he just picks up his ingredients and gets to work on his tahini sauce without another word. He doesn’t know how to take Stan’s distress over his flirting, though he wonders if it’s because Stan knows the baristas are mostly men now at Fran’s. Stan isn’t homophobic, Mike knows that, but if he isn’t comfortable with Mike being gay so openly at work . . . he doesn’t know what to do with that. So he focuses on tahini sauce, and tries to forget about Stan and Bill for a little while. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


**@mikehanlon:** currently reading ‘the poet x’, and uh wow. i was told it would hurt me, and it has. thanks @acevedowrites 

**@mikehanlonsbrownies reply to @mikehanlon:** omg i fucking love poet x it’s so gorgeous, i cried like four times

**@bonappletea reply to @mikehanlon:** it’s been so long since you posted about a book!! i’m glad you’re still reading my dude - you should totally check out ‘on the come up’ by angie thomas, it’s got rad poetry-ish stuff in it too 

**@lilahcook reply to @bonappletea:** oh my god yes!! or the miseducation of cameron post, it’s like right up your alley - and one of my favourite booktubers just did a rad analysis of it @billdenbro

  
  


* * *

  
  


“So, this hurt me.” 

Mike drops his borrowed copy of The Poet X onto the counter at Fran’s. Bill looks up from where he was doodling on a napkin and grins. 

“Yeah? Good. It’s supposed to hurt.” 

“Is there nothing lighter?” Mike asks, though he’s smiling through his dramatized complaints. Bill is smiling, too; they’re both just smiling, like two idiots who apparently share books now. 

“Hmm . . . that you would like? I don’t know, everything you’ve mentioned is pretty dark,” Bill says, thinking. He isn’t entirely teasing about that - Mike does seem to gravitate towards emotional, contemplative stories, reflecting on the human condition, which is an interesting taste for Mr Sunshine to have - but he still enjoys the eye roll he gets in response. Mike’s eye rolls are so playful that Bill doesn’t think they could feel hurtful even if he was trying to be. 

“Like, a romance, or something?” Mike says, propping his elbows up on the counter. The coffeeshop is between rushes again (it’s as though he times their meetings to be during these dead moments, which makes Bill’s stomach flutter), so they can laugh and talk as long as they’d like for now. 

“A romance?” Bill repeats. 

“Or just something happy,” Mike says quickly, as though trying to prevent whatever teasing Bill was concocting. And, to be fair, he wasn’t  _ not  _ concocting any. 

“Something happy. Maybe . . . Oh, Red White and Royal Blue is supposed to be good.” 

“Supposed to be? You haven’t read it?” 

“I haven’t read everything, Michael,” Bill retorts. “I’m a booktuber, not a supercomputer.” 

“A booktuber,” Mike says, a sly grin creeping across his face; Bill doesn’t know how worried he should be. “. . . And a writer?” 

“Oh my god.” Okay, so very worried is the right amount of worried he should have been. “Did Bev tell you? Or Ben?” 

“Your twitter followers, actually,” Mike says. “They’ve been very helpful, very informative.”

“Why does it sound like you’ve been interrogating them?” Bill asks, though he is still somewhat nervous about this fun shift in conversation. His writing feels a little too unpolished for him to want Mike peeking in on it yet; he’s still in the phase of needing to impress Mike at all times, before they get to the endearingly embarrassing things about him. (Of which there are many, particularly ones Bev knows about. Bill is going to need to beg her not to share anything just yet. He’s already dreading it.) 

“I swear I haven’t! People are just volunteering info, and some of your chapbooks were in the mix.” 

“Oh my god, I haven’t thought about those shorts in, like, three years,” Bill groans. “They kind of suck. Please tell me they’re at least from the horror one, it’s not too bad.” 

“Some of them, yeah,” Mike says. “I really liked the one about the werewolf short story that’s also, like, 50 First Dates?” 

“Oh! Yeah, I actually - huh, I kinda like that one still.” Bill feels a sweep of relief: his horror/romcom mashup chapbook is one of his favourite projects to this day. “But the others . . .?” 

“I don’t think anything there was bad,” Mike says. The softness of his voice coaxes Bill to look up from his face-palm, and he is met with Mike’s warm, deep brown eyes, crinkled in a smile. “You’re really talented.” 

“Oh.” Bill forgets how to breathe for a second before his brain switches back on again, and his cheeks burn. Damn his easily-flushed complexion. 

Mike bites his lip, contemplative, before saying, “I’ve gotta get back to the test kitchen, or Eddie might literally kill me - I promised to help him taste test his new Gourmet Makes recipe. But it was nice seeing you. I’ll check that book out - then at least one of us will know if it’s good.” 

“Nice seeing you,” Bill says, hand raised, as Mike leaves. He’s left alone in the coffeeshop, though he can sense the impending mid-afternoon rush, like a sixth sense. He lets the moment linger in the air before he starts cleaning down the bottom of the espresso machine, breathing in the magic Mike seems to leave in the air. 

_ Nice seeing you _ . 

* * *

  
  


**Mike Makes Brownies - Bon Appetit Test Kitchen**

[Mike Hanlon is melting the chocolate in a double-broiler on the stovetop, running a spatula along the bottom of the bowl frequently. He glances up at the camera and grins. He does this grin a lot in videos: bright, friendly, like he’s welcoming the audience into his apartment and asking them what tea they’d like.]

“If the double-broiler method is a little too elaborate for anyone, you can always heat up some heavy cream in the microwave - I usually do about a quarter cup for about thirty or so seconds, maybe forty if I’m feelin’ feisty - and then pour it over the chopped chocolate in a bowl, mixing all the while. That’ll melt it, too.”

[Stan Uris walks behind Mike, striding purposefully to the other end of the kitchen, his arms full of spice containers. He pauses just behind Mike, though, and snorts.]

“Too elaborate? Mike, people can usually get their hands on a second bowl. There’s no national bowl shortage.”

[Mike laughs, and nudges Stan with his elbow, still stirring his melting chocolate.] 

“You don’t know what people have going on, don’t assume everyone’s got a second bowl - some people are one-bowl people. That’s just life.” 

  
  
  
  


Bill squints at his laptop screen for a solid forty five seconds before letting out a bewildered “Wait, WHAT?” 

Ben walks into the living room just then, and pauses, eyebrows raised at Bill. “Everything okay? Are you watching another weird Blue Planet segment about the deep sea?” 

“What? No, no, god - did you know about this?” He flips his laptop around, finger jabbing at the screen where Stan the Asshole lingers in the background, talking with Mike.  _ Laughing _ with Mike. 

“Know about what? That’s Stan, he works in the test kitchen,” Ben says with a shrug. “He used to come in with Mike and Eddie sometimes. I haven’t seen him in a . . . oh shit.” He stops, and his eyes narrow as he regards Bill. “He’s the asshole you complained about on twitter.” 

“I - I didn’t say his  _ name _ !” Bill protests, though it’s weak and he knows it. “He’s just - he’s such a dick - and Mike is so  _ nice _ -”

“Yes, I know you think Mike is nice, but oh god, Bill.” Ben sighs, looking almost as harried as Bill feels. “What’re you gonna do?” 

“I don’t know,” Bill admits, staring at the looming destructor of his happiness on screen. “I honestly don’t know.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i haven't read acomaf in like two years so this is from what i vaguely remember about tarquin - he was so sunshiney in my memory lmao. 
> 
> also the fourth chapter is nearly done, too, so that'll be up soon. i'm doing this bad boy in quick installments that will hopefully get to Proper Romantic Tension soon between everyone. the upcoming ba barbecue will probably help matters. 
> 
> tysm for reading everybody!! <3 <3


	4. what tf happened at this barbecue ????

The Bon Appetit Cookout Event (and yes, Stan, they do have to call it that every time they say it) is tomorrow. Mike is sitting on his bed, trying not to panic about it. 

He’s been sitting there, trying not to panic about it, for almost two hours since he got home from work. He thought that asking Bill (and Ben) to come would be the difficult part. He had practiced the conversation in his head all morning, thinking through every good and terrible way he could go about doing it. Of course, once he’d stepped through the door of Fran’s and looked Bill in the eye, every prepared thought he’d had went flying out the window; but Mike had persevered, and somehow not made a fool of himself, no matter how nervous he had suddenly gotten. And then Bill had said yes, and Ben had also said yes, and everything should’ve been absolutely resolved and fine after that. 

But now Mike is sitting on his bed, wondering if maybe he’s made a huge mistake. 

So he calls Eddie. 

Or, he tries to call Eddie. He’s met with the dull tone of a busy line, and hangs up with a frown. Eddie is at home - Mike saw him leave the test kitchen early that day, having finished up his Milky Way video around noon - and Mike’s sure he’s freaking out and needing to rant just as much as Mike is. The two of them are both royally screwed tomorrow, or at least at risk of that happening. 

Mike meets the busy tone a second time, and tries for a third, half-laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. When Eddie picks up almost immediately, Mike puts two and two together and figures they must have been trying to call each other at the same time, and lets out a chuckled “oh my  _ god _ ” just as Eddie is groaning “oh my god.”

Hastily, Mike goes “no, no, wait -” as Eddie rushes out a “yeah, no, fuck, don’t worry -” 

“Shit, wait - you go,” Mike goes, wincing as he nearly yells to cut over any of their fumbling. 

There is a pause, and Mike readies himself just in time before Eddie begins with a dramatic moan of “So, I’m a dumbass, Michael.” 

Eddie gripes about his anxiety over Richie’s impending presence in his life, and the future collab. Mike is genuinely surprised to hear Eddie get such cold feet about doing a video with Richie; he had seemed so okay with the idea back when he teased it on twitter, and Mike couldn’t see anything about Richie that would be a total nightmare to work with. Sure, he was a bit obnoxious, but Mike had come across him once at Fran’s while chatting with Bill, and he seemed kind enough in person that Mike can’t totally begrudge him some noise and nonsense online. 

By the time Mike has cobbled together a moment of peace and reassurance to gift to Eddie, who accepts it without seemingly realizing how much of it has come out of Mike’s (very well-meaning) ass, his brain has started to turn back to Bill. Bill, wiping down the counter at Fran’s while laughing with Richie that afternoon Mike walked in on the two of them, blue eyes bright in the orange evening light, auburn hair mussed from hours of brushing it out of his face with the back of his wrist the way Mike has seen him do so many times. He’d looked up at Mike when the door closed behind him, and that moment had held Mike’s heart in its hands. He can’t get the image out of his head. 

“So, what’s your nervous breakdown about?” Eddie asks, sounding a bit calmer. 

Mike sighs, and he feels the sound everywhere. He’s been sighing a lot the past few days, since this particular conflict arose and endeavoured to destroy him. “I invited Bill, and Stan hasn’t spoken to me since yesterday.” Stan’s expression, flat and distant, flashes through Mike’s head as he explains, and he feels a now-familiar stab of guilt, though he isn’t entirely sure at this point what he feels guilty about. Inviting Bill? Why should he? Is Stan upset about Mike bringing a guy? Is he upset about having strangers crash the test kitchen cookout? Mike can’t pin down what might be pissing Stan off so much - and make no mistake, Stan is pissed off. He’s been brooding ever since Mike mentioned Bill (and Ben’s) invitations. 

Eddie’s voice cuts through his thoughts, and Mike is reminded why it was so necessary to call his best friend in times like this. If anyone could call bullshit where it needed to be called, it was Eddie Kaspbrak; through so many unfortunate circumstances, he had become something of an expert in that particular art. 

“Alright. I guess we gotta plan Operation Help Mike Not Die.”

“That plan sounds great,” Mike says with a laugh. “I like the last part a lot.”

“The bit where you don’t die?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“Good, it’s pretty vital to the rest of it.” Eddie pauses, and Mike fidgets with a loose fray in his couch cushion. Stan had told him he could show him how to patch it up the last time he was over, but Mike hasn’t heard anything that indicates Stan’s interested in fixing his couch cushions these days. He feels another sigh coming on, and tilts his head back, staring up at the ceiling, trying to hold it in. 

“I mean, you know Stan and Bill hate each other, right?” Eddie asks. 

Mike’s mouth quirks into a frown, brow furrowing. “They do? I didn’t know they even know each other - Stan hasn’t gone to Fran’s pretty much the entire time Bill’s been . . . oh.” The timing made so much more sense now: Stan all but refusing to go to Fran’s, beginning maybe a week after Bill began working there. He had made constant excuses not to go, or for someone else to do the coffee runs, but Mike had tried to take them at face value and not pry into Stan’s glowering or his sudden desire to stay cooped up at his desk at lunch instead of stretching his legs like he used to enjoy doing, especially with Mike. 

“Yeah.” Eddie sounds a bit resigned, as though he’s known for a while. Maybe he has. Maybe Stan’s been telling him - 

“Has Stan told you about . . . this?” 

“I . . . yeah. Loudly. Sort of.” 

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“You didn’t think to, I don’t know, warn me?” Mike asks, running a hand down his tired face. There is too much that could go wrong tomorrow for him not to be tired, preemptive exhaustion creeping over him, enough to almost overtake the nervousness twitching through his muscles. 

Almost. 

“I thought you’d, like, reprimand me for telling other people’s stuff, or whatever -” Eddie splutters, and Mike frowns. 

“What? Why would I reprimand you?” 

“Because of that thing where you’re, like, a good person or an upstanding citizen or whatever! Mike Hanlon doesn’t gossip.” Eddie pauses. “Unless he needs to, of course. This isn’t a bad thing. Please don’t start feeling guilty.” 

“Eddie, I’m allowed to gossip,” Mike protests, even though his grandmother’s warnings about not talking about other people behind their back are running through his head in the stern softness of her voice. He flushes, feeling caught, and adds, “Except this isn’t gossip, because we’re planning, because now I’m screwed.” 

“Maybe in more ways than one, if you play your cards right,” Eddie says, and Mike hears the clap of Eddie’s hand to his forehead before he mimics the action. “Oh shit that was awful.” 

“Yeah, dude, what the fuck,” Mike says. “You been watching more of Richie’s videos?” 

“Shut up!” Eddie snaps, and Mike chuckles, just to rile him up a bit. “We’re dealing with your crisis right now!” 

“Only we aren’t dealing with it, because there’s nothing to fix it, is there?” Mike despairs. “Do you think if I just talk to them, like, civilly -?” 

“No.” Eddie cuts him off with the adamacy of diamond. “Dude, you do  _ not  _ want to go down that road.” 

“Then what am I supposed to do, if we can’t just talk like adults?!”

“You have to act like a non-adult,” Eddie says simply. “You have to pull a middle-school-dance-bullshit-tactic, and only talk to them one at a time. Keep them away from each other.”

“Are you serious?” Mike asks. Then, lower, “You’re serious.” 

“Do you have any better ideas?” Eddie counters. 

“You mean like talking through our differences like normal, reasonable people?” 

“So you don’t.” 

Mike sighs, rolling onto his side, phone pressed uncomfortably against his ear. He can see the subtle but horrendous chaos unfolding already: Stan and Bill, feet from each other on either side of Mike, glaring. Mike has never seen Bill angry, and so isn’t sure what to expect from him. But Stan? Mike knows Stan, in all his forms, and he knows that an irritated, irate Stan is not a prospect to be taken lightly. He knows Eddie’s only trying to help, and stay positive, but he can’t help but worry the plan won’t work in the least. But, at the same time -

“No, I don’t.” 

“Alright then, go to sleep and tomorrow we’ll make sure Bill and Stan don’t come within ten feet of each other.” 

* * *

  
  


Eddie’s Operation Help Mike Not Die falls apart almost immediately. 

He meant well, Mike knows, but he can’t help feeling a bit betrayed by how brief Eddie’s planned peace lasts. Mike, tired from a late night of tossing and turning, arrives ten minutes late to the set up of the cookout, meeting Stan on the patio. He’s stiff and a bit awkward, but his eyes shine in the sunlight when he gives Mike a small smile, and Mike feels a flash of warmth that has little to do with the warm August afternoon. 

He makes the mistake of going to the washroom, however, and returns to find a frowning but gorgeous Bill Denbrough hovering nearby Stan, whose hazel eyes have gone slitted in annoyance. 

Mike swallows his nerves and starts towards them. 

“Bill, you made it!” He begins, determined to keep himself together. Maybe if he acts as though everything is normal and everyone is friends, the universe will work itself out that way, even just for one afternoon. 

“Yeah, I promised I’d come,” Bill says, and his face softens for a moment when he sees Mike. His grip is dry and gentle when he and Mike clasp hands, and there’s a second where Mike is convinced that maybe all they needed was a mediator to appear. 

Then Bill lets go of his hand and Mike can see Stan, who’s watching the two of them from just a few feet away, though it feels like miles. He’s frowning, and it’s in a way that Mike knows is different from the frown he gives Eddie when they’re pestering each other about something, or when the subway leaves without him. This is Stan’s frown of Genuine Disappointment, and it sends a pang of instant regret through Mike when he sees it. 

“So, who else is here?” Mike asks, and Stan looks at him. His face is carefully neutral, the frown disappearing, though Mike worries that it’s only hidden. 

“You want to find someone else to talk to already?” Stan replies with another question, and Mike tries not to groan in frustration or apologize. Though what he desperately wants is to fix everything, do whatever he can to stop Stan looking at him like that, he knows that it won’t fix things, not really. And he isn’t going to bow to whatever petty nonsense Stan and Bill have going on right now. Mike is going to have a good time with his friends, no matter how much of a stubborn balancing act that is going to require. 

“No, just wanted to know if Eddie’s here yet,” Mike says easily, though he doesn’t move to get closer to Stan yet. He’s going to take things slow, not rush into any diplomatic conversation. Keep things neutral. As long as Stan and Bill aren’t openly trying to kill each other, things can be considered “good”. (Mike isn’t sure of the details surrounding Bill and Stan’s strange feud, but Eddie had implied enough the night before for an actual fight to seem like it’s on the table. Mike is determined to take it off the table.) 

“Oh, Eddie!” Bill says, smiling. “I haven’t seen him in a while, he hasn’t come around Fran’s in a few days -”

“Maybe it’s the company,” Stan cuts in. His voice is still carefully calm, but Mike sees what’s glimmering in his eyes as he looks over to Bill. “Or the view.” 

“The crowd at Fran’s is pretty good, actually,” Bill says, still smiling, his gaze moving from Mike to Stan. “There’ve been some really recent adjustments that’ve really improved the overall vibe of the place. Callous assholes have been avoiding it like the plague lately.” 

“Not that I’ve seen,” Stan says.

“Well, you haven’t seen much of Fran’s in a while, have you? A fun coincidence.” 

Mike’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out without taking his eyes off the two men next to him. Stan and Bill are looking right at each other, locked in something, while Mike risks a glance down at his phone screen. There’s a message from Eddie promising he’ll be in the place in five minutes tops. 

“I have to go -” Mike starts, and is suddenly the focus of both Bill and Stan’s intent gazes, as both of their heads snap towards his voice, which falters a bit as he continues, “- get . . . Eddie. I’ll be right back, uh, soon. Yeah.” 

Mike turns and marches back inside, though he feels he should stay. He doesn’t like running from a mess like this. 

But he has to find Eddie, and inform him that Operation Help Mike Not Die is officially over. 

* * *

  
  


**@thestanuris:** All I can say about today is that everyone should give Betty a round of applause for her cocktail recipes. 

**@boneappletea reply to @thestanuris:** oh my god are you okay??? did the last it’s alive tire you out that much??? 

**@testkitsch reply to @thestanuris:** oh fuck dude is this about the mysterious asshple you keep subtweeting about?? 

**@sweddie reply to @testkitsch:** omg it probably is!! (but who is it?? bc it’s not mike or betty) 

**@mikehanlon reply to @sweddie:** no, it’s definitely about me haha 

**@testkitsch reply to @sweddie:** (yoooo is that mike’s passive aggressive “haha”??? what tf happened at this barbecue??) 

* * *

  
  


Eddie is frantic when he arrives, although not quite as much as Mike feels; they stand there in the dim lighting of the party for a second, mirroring each other’s expressions of anxiety. Then Mike bursts into action, and is pulling Eddie out onto the patio, hoping that Stan and Bill won’t be murdering each other when he returns. 

They aren’t, which is something of a relief, though they do still seem locked in a silent battle of wills, glaring at one another as though looks really could kill. Mike wants to hurry over before anyone can get the idea to expediate that killing process. 

Eddie follows his gaze to the two men and sighs. “Okay, so part of the plan is no longer . . . happening. But you can still save this! They’re not - I mean, has Stan talked to you?” 

Mike worries on his lower lip, glancing back to Eddie for a moment. He can still see Stan’s little frown, so genuinely hurt and frustrated, and feels another pang ring through his chest. He’s angry at Stan for doing this, for being so childish and not letting Mike just be happy, but there’s something in Mike that never wants to be the cause of that look being on Stan’s face, no matter the circumstances. 

He nods once, and Eddie seems to take this confirmation as hopeful rather than the devastating development that it really is. Bless his heart, he never did like it when his friends clashed.

“Well, then, you guys are - I mean, you can - well . . .”

Eddie’s eyes flick to Stan and Bill again, and Mike follows him to see Bill opening his mouth to say something. That is something Mike almost certainly doesn’t want to happen; he can already feel the tension sparking up again between them, and neither of them have technically spoken yet. 

Eddie hisses, “Dude, go, do something, don’t let them -” just as Bev Marsh, all smiles and bright eyes, pops into existence over Eddie’s shoulder. Mike sees her, smiles, and knows when Bev says Eddie’s name in a tentative question, paired with the towering, lanky man standing just behind her, that Mike really ought to be somewhere else for a moment. The perfect opportunity to place himself between Stan and Bill like a human fucking shield. Excellent. 

So he darts over and does just that. 

“Where’d you guys get the drinks?” Mike asks, trying to sound casual. Bill quiets when he sees Mike approaching, which is an instant relief. 

“Oh, you know, around,” Bill says, his smile easy and casual. It’s a stark contrast to the glare he’d been shooting Stan’s way, and Mike can’t help but find the change startling. 

“Over there,” Stan says flatly, pointing at a drinks table someone has set up on the other side of the patio. He’s clutching his glass of wine like a lifeline, and his eyes are cold enough to dispel the summer heat all around them. 

Mike nods once, slowly. “Right. I’m gonna - I’m gonna grab one. A drink. I’ll be right back.” He doesn’t necessarily like tagging that addendum onto his sentence, thinking it sounds too much like a veiled warning not to start fighting as soon as he leaves, but Mike also feels compelled to put  _ some  _ preventative measures up. He just wants a peaceful, fun afternoon with his friends, and wishes it were an easier thing to conjure. 

He heads for the drinks table, and wonders how much tequila is a responsible amount of tequila for this impending disaster. 

* * *

  
  


Bill is in the midst of a shitstorm. 

There isn’t another, kinder way to phrase the nonsense he’s putting up with right now, he’s certain of it; he’s spent the past twenty minutes trying to play diplomat in his head over the whole thing. Like maybe if he just calms himself down a bit, thinks about how good Mike looks in that shade of peach, he’ll stop himself and Stan from turning the cookout into a battleground. 

Tragically, that doesn’t seem to have worked. 

Stan is standing a few feet from him, closer than they’ve ever really been. In Fran’s, there’s a counter to separate them, keep Bill guarded against the towering hostility of the other man. (He’s still annoyed that Stan is probably two or three inches taller than him, just enough to be noticeable. He hopes Mike doesn’t notice, although he probably does, as perceptive as he is.) 

“So,” Bill says, as Mike turns to the drinks table. He takes a sip of his beer, determined to make Stan wait on his words. It’s petty and dumb, but after the incessant glaring and the digs at his job and his general personality, he’s willing to stoop a bit for revenge. “You work with Mike?” 

“Yes.” Stan speaks without emotion, his face flat. 

“I . . . didn’t know that.” Bill had, of course, but he didn’t want Stan to know that, and he had tried to forget it himself before the cookout. When he walked onto the patio, ready to drink and be merry with Mike and Bev and some cool chefs, he had hoped that he wouldn’t be met with the sight of Stan The Asshole chilling in a lilac blouse that highlights the bright hazel of his eyes, looking good and happy and in his element with the other people there. (Bill is ready to deny the shit out of it if anyone asks, but he definitely stared a bit when he saw him there. Stan was kind of beautiful when he wasn’t scowling or glaring or calling him an idiot.) But if Stan knows Bill has watched his videos, baffled by his grumpy charm on camera, then Bill has to admit to creepily binging Mike’s videos, and he doesn’t want to give Stan any extra ammunition. 

“Clearly.” Stan takes a long drink of his chardonnay, and Bill understands that he must be talking in one-word responses to keep calm for Mike. This is upsetting, mostly because it makes Stan seem at least somewhat courteous towards another human being, and Bill is entirely unused to seeing that. He knows Stan The Asshole, not this humanized version of him. 

Mike is taking an odd amount of time getting his drink, and when Bill glances over, he sees him chatting and laughing with the glasses-clad girl who had pointed him in the direction of the cooler. She’s whipping up some kind of cocktail, and Mike has her tossing her head back in laughter. Bill is struck by the image of them for a moment, the joy Mike radiates and infects other people with. He really wants to kiss him for a split second. 

Then Mike is making his way back over to them, and Bill focuses on his smile and the way the sunlight is bathing his face. 

“Betty’s set up some great drinks,” Mike says, nodding at Stan. Bill sees him nod back once, and take another long drink of wine. The air between the three of them grows heavy with discomfort the longer the silence stretches. 

“So, you guys know each other?” Mike asks, his grin a bit tight.

Bill and Stan drink at the same time. 

* * *

**@thestanuris:** I know, two tweets in one day? Am I the pinnacle of consistent content now? Regardless, there’s going to be an announcement today that is exciting and involves me. Stay tuned. 

**@mikesbrownies reply to @thestanuris:** omg omg omg omg ????? 

* * *

  
  


Stan cannot fucking believe his luck. 

Mike mentioned bringing Barista Bill (Stan’s personal alliterative nickname for him - “Bastard Bill” - did not catch on with Eddie, who insisted on the former) to the cookout two weeks ago, but somehow Stan had hoped it was a joke or wouldn’t work out or Bill would leave the country. Maybe be nudged  _ very hard _ by a passing taxi, giving him a mild injury, like a sprained ankle, that prevented him from coming, or ever seeing Mike again. 

But Stan, wearing one of his favourite shirts that he  _ knows  _ he looks nice in, hanging out with Betty and debating between a mocktail or her homemade lemonade, had glanced up to see (Bastard) Barista Bill walking confidently onto the patio. His auburn hair shone red under the sun, and his arms looked good in that stupid baseball shirt he’s in, and Stan is still mad about those arms. 

He pours himself a glass of chardonnay. 

He and Bill linger nearby each other, though it feels more like they’re keeping tabs on each other than hanging out. Bill talks and laughs with Betty for a bit when he goes off in search of a drink, and Stan resists the urge to text Betty to tell her not to talk to him. It feels immature and ridiculous, and wouldn’t work anyway. Stan settles for glaring resolutely at Bill’s back instead. 

Stan at least knows enough not to pick a fight with Mike en route from the washroom any minute. Maybe he can get  _ Bill  _ to pick a fight, though, and make a fool of himself in front of Mike . . . 

Mike pops up out of nowhere, startling the half-formed plans out of Stan’s head. He breaks out into an instinctive smile as Mike strides towards him, which fades as soon as he sees who Mike’s smiling at: Bill, who has drifted back over to stand a few feet to his left. God, Stan is going to hate seeing this. 

“Bill, you made it!” Mike says, reaching out to clasp hands with Bill; Stan thinks this gesture is a little too intimate for his liking, but swallows his bitterness down enough to ease his face from a grimace into a look of neutral displeasure when Mike looks over at him. He isn’t going to pretend to be happy, but he sure as hell isn’t going to openly ruin Mike’s day. Even if Bill is an asshole. Even if he really ought to. 

“So who else is here?” Mike asks. This question, inexplicably, darkens Stan’s mood immensely. 

“You want to find someone else to talk to already?” Stan tilts his head, watching Mike frown slightly at him. He knows how annoying the question-for-a-question response is, but can’t find it in him to say anything that isn’t on the defensive. If Mike wants to go around finding new people to talk to that aren’t Stan, then Stan isn’t going to worry about making himself a sparkling conversationalist.  _ It’s not like we’re Stan&Mike, who talk to each other everyday and at every dumb thing we have to attend, or anything . . . _

“No, just wanted to know if Eddie’s here yet,” Mike says. He’s so casual about this whole thing, tossing Stan aside so he can hang out with  _ Bill  _ and his fucking  _ baseball shirt  _ and his  _ sparkling blue eyes  _ \- 

“Oh, Eddie!” Bill says, smiling. “I haven’t seen him in a while, he hasn’t come around Fran’s in a few days -” 

“Maybe it’s the company,” Stan cuts in. He can feel his heart racing as he snaps at Bill, eyes raking over his face, which has scrunched into a frown as he turns to look at him. Stan isn’t looking at Mike, because for a moment it doesn’t really feel like this is about Mike. It’s just him, and Bill, and Bill’s dumb little frown. The same confused, angry frown Stan has seen over the counter at Fran’s, right before Bill says something asinine or rude or ridiculous. “Or the view.” 

“The crowd at Fran’s is pretty good, actually,” Bill says, smiling as he turns to include Mike in this conversation once again, though his eyes stay on Stan. “There’ve been some really recent adjustments that’ve really improved the overall vibe of the place. Callous assholes have been avoiding it like the plague lately.” 

“Not that I’ve seen,” Stan retorts, though the barb stings a bit. He chides himself for letting it: he shouldn’t care what Bastard Barista Bill thinks about him. 

“Well, you haven’t seen much of Fran’s in a while, have you? A fun coincidence.” 

Stan feels his blood boil. Bill is watching him like he’s daring him to reply, to keep the argument going, to really embarrass himself in front of Mike. It’s around this point that Stan realizes Bill has stolen, and perfected, his plan. And in that process, he’s also stolen Mike. Mike, whose attention Stan can always count on, who he actually wants to talk to today about the incredible announcement he’s been sitting on for the past month. (Stan still has the email he saved back in June, the beginning of his correspondence with his would-be alma mater. He saved it to show Mike, right before Bastard Barista Bill strolled into town.) Now his secret will stay a secret, while he watches Bill and Mike flirt and smile and sparkle under the sunshine. 

He turns to ask Betty for a new drink. 

* * *

**@Columbia:** We are thrilled to announce the beginning of a guest-speaker series for our student organizations and programs, beginning with a speaker for our Student Culinary Organization. Over three weeks this coming September, Columbia alumni @thestanuris, from Bon Appetit magazine, will be leading weekly culinary workshops and discussing his experience as a professional chef! 

**@testkitsch reply to @Columbia:** oh my GOD 

**@eddiek reply to @Columbia:** @thestanuris dude congratulations!!! 

**@mikesbrownies reply to @Columbia:** holy shit !!!! 

* * *

  
  


It’s been four hours, and Bill is exhausted with the cookout. Being around Mike for this long has been fantastic, and wonderful, and life-changing - he thinks that, despite it not being possible, he’s gotten even more smitten with Mike in the past four hours than he was before. 

(Ben objects to Bill’s use of the word “smitten” when talking about Mike, claiming it sounds creepy and childish and old-fashioned in an anti-trendy way. Bev agrees with Ben, but Bill doesn’t consider this a good tie-breaker, given the way Bev sometimes looks at Ben when he isn’t looking at her. So he is most definitely fucking “smitten”.) 

But Stan Uris has been watching him for the past four hours like Bill has personally murdered his cat, and this has, sadly, put something of a damper on the afternoon. Having to flirt with Mike on one side while sparring with Stan on the other has been draining to say the least. 

Take right now, for example. Bill has been chatting about book-to-film adaptations with Mike for the past twenty minutes (Mike has  _ so many  _ thoughts about the Harry Potter adaptations, and Bill has had to stop himself from just grabbing his cheeks and kissing him on the spot, like, thirty separate times). Bill has also been fending off attempts by Stan to disagree with everything Bill says, and glare holes through Bill’s skull. 

“I’ve just never been much of a fan of Hermione, so I was always a bit annoyed at the movies trying to make her this, like, perfect character who can do no wrong -” Bill says, Mike nodding along with him. 

“What’s wrong with Hermione?” Stan interrupts. Bill glances over to meet his glare with a plastered-on smile, keeping up appearances as well as he can. 

“Nothing! She’s just - she’s a lot more, you know, rough around the edges in the book - you know,” Bill turns back to Mike, smiling for real now, “she’s kind of bossy, kind of rude, insensitive and stuff to other people’s problems and feelings - but that’s what makes her, like, a good character! She’s flawed!” 

“Oh, so now knowing stuff is a character flaw?” Stan asks. He’s only on his second glass of wine, so Bill knows he’s not drunk or anything, only a natural dick. Fantastic. “Now taking charge is a bad thing?” 

“That’s not - oh my god, dude, that’s so not what I said,” Bill snaps, patience wearing thin (though, really, who can blame him?). 

“Whatever,” Stan says, slinking back into a conversation with Bev and Eddie, who are watching Richie try to fit as many cocktail shrimp in his mouth as physically possible. Bill is definitely  _ not  _ sorry to see him go, though he knows he’ll be back. Stan’s been drifting in and out of his and Mike’s conversations the whole evening, showing up just to be rude and then leave once he’s riled Bill up. 

“I’m so sorry about that,” Mike says quietly, giving Bill a small, sympathetic smile. “He isn’t normally -”

“A huge dick?” Bill asks, though he keeps his tone light, joking. Stan is still Mike’s friend, despite being the absolute worst. Bill isn’t about to start telling him who he should or shouldn’t be friends with. 

Mike laughs, short and startled, and Bill relishes the sound. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bill assures him. He can worry about Stan Uris enough for the two of them. “At least I don’t have to see him on the regular or anything. It’s all good. I don’t have to work with him,” he adds with a wink, which makes Mike smile. 

“Yeah,” Mike says. “At least you don’t have to see each other much.” 

* * *

  
  


[A slightly blurry photo of George Denbrough, laughing gleefully, holding out an envelope marked with the insignia of Columbia University. He’s still in his pyjamas, and has clearly just gotten out of bed.] 

13,456 likes

**billdenbrough** GUESS WHERE MY BROTHERS GOING TO COLLEGE HOLY SHIT

**bevmarsh** oh my god georgie congrats !!!!!

**billdenbrough** careful, he doesn’t respond well to “georgie” anymore

**gdenbrough** @bevmarsh thanks bev lmao

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> am i setting up what you might think i'm setting up??? Absolutely. 
> 
> anyway hello everyone i live !! my holiday fic will be updated soon (as in like finished in the next week or so), and the Elaborate Coffeeshop AU is gonna be pretty much my full fic focus. in the meantime, here is a stanlonbrough fun angsty chapter, and also let's pretend that every inconsistency is, like, bc of unreliable narrators or something and not bc i've forgotten stuff i've written weeks ago lmao 
> 
> love you all, and tysm for supporting my fics!!! 
> 
> hmu on tumblr @thatsjustfangtastic if you wanna yell or chat or hang out <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> what's up, i've lost my mind and done this thing. there is a third companion fic coming, and this might kill me, but i am So Hyped. they all interconnect, but i wanted individual fics to fully flesh out and explore the various relationships as they develop over time. i adore these boys, and want to talk about them more lmao
> 
> hope everyone likes !! the updates will probably be around this long, just so i can update more frequently without dying, but yeah. this is a Thing i'm doing now. let's go !!!! 
> 
> hmu on tumblr @thatsjustfangtastic if you wanna chat/question my common sense or anything <3 <3


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